Blaze! Western Series: Six Adult Western Novels

by Stephen Mertz

  "One of my men is lyin' dead back there!" the marshal said.

  "And here's the man who killed him," Kate replied. Unable to resist, she added, "You can thank us now, or later."

  Chapter 12

  "I wish he'd hurry up and get here," Carlan Naegle said.

  "You need to pray more," Abriel Hamblin replied, "and worry less."

  "Easy to say, Brother."

  "You let the world crowd in on you. It skews your state of mind."

  Naegle muttered something underneath his breath. Moroni Finlinson, seated before a window of the small farmhouse, asked Hamblin, "Do we open up on him first thing, soon as he gets here?"

  Before Hamblin could answer, Naegle horned in, saying, "That's another thing. How come we're killin' him, instead of payin' him like you agreed?"

  Finlinson clucked his tongue and said, "To save the money, Brother."

  "That, in part," Hamblin agreed. "But also because Jack McCarthy is not one of us. He does not share our mutual commitment to the faith. A time may come, perhaps influenced by a woman's wiles or alcohol, when he might speak of things best left unsaid."

  "And get us hung," Finlinson said. "You get it now, Carlan?"

  "Okay, but..."

  "What, Brother?" asked Hamblin.

  "Well, I mean...what if he's ready for us? He's a killer."

  "And you ain't?" Finlinson challenged him.

  "I done my share of it," Naegle agreed. "But not like this one."

  "You exaggerate his prowess," Hamblin said, "to your own detriment. Such pessimism is a vile temptation from the Dark One, father of all lies."

  "But he's a cold one, Brother," Naegle answered back. "You haven't seen him work."

  "His lack of passion is a handicap, when weighed against our zeal for the Heavenly Father. Have you lost your faith, Brother?"

  "No, sir. I know what I can handle. But McCarthy is—"

  "An imp of Satan," Hamblin said. "He cannot stand against us."

  "I'm just sorry that we ever hired him," Naegle said.

  "We use the tools at hand, Brother. And when a task is finished, we dispose of them."

  "He's dead already," Finlinson declared. "Just doesn't know it yet. I'm gonna—"

  "Wait until I give the order," Hamblin said.

  "Right, Brother. Just exac'ly what I meant to say."

  "No doubt."

  Hamblin, for his part, thought he did a good job of concealing his own nervousness. Seated in shadow as the day waned, large hands folded in his lap, he did not pace or fidget, trusted his companions to keep watch and warn him when they saw McCarthy coming to collect his final payment.

  Hamblin had no money for him, only death. No fear of running into Jack McCarthy in the Spirit World. With his accumulated sins, Hamblin had no doubt the assassin would be cast far into Outer Darkness, never to return. Loyal Danites, on the other hand, were soldiers of the Lord, and therefore Glory-bound.

  Hamblin drew his Colt Frontier revolver, held it in his lap a moment, then began to check its load. There was no need, but it was something for his hands to do while he was waiting for the mercenary to arrive, wondering what was keeping him. McCarthy would not leave without his money, but he might have smelled a trap somehow, seen some unbidden sign in Hamblin's eyes or heard the others whispering behind his back. In that case, he would be more dangerous than ever, on the prod, ready to fight at the first sign of trickery.

  And if he never showed?

  That was another source of worry, to be dealt with in its turn.

  Sufficient unto this day, Hamblin thought, is the evil thereof.

  * * *

  As it turned out, Marshal Allred wasn't in a mood to thank J.D. or Kate. His deputy—named Arnie Sykes, apparently—was dead, shot cleanly through the heart, and he wanted someone to swing for it.

  "The man you want is dead," J.D. reminded him. "Check out the slug that killed your deputy. You'll find that it's a Smith & Wesson .45."

  "I still blame you two," Allred groused. "If Arnie wasn't trailing you—"

  "Hold on," Kate interrupted. "Put the blame for that where it belongs, Marshal."

  "Meaning?"

  "The obvious. You set him on us. Neither one of us invited him to tag along and be our shadow."

  "Damn you for the blood and suffering you've brought into this town!"

  "We've had this talk already," J.D. said. "You know as well as we do that the shooters got here first. We followed them. You can't twist that around."

  "Fact is," Allred replied, "I don't care spit, which of you led the way. They hadn't done a thing, whoever they are, till you came along and stirred the pot, asking about your Mr. Spendthrift."

  "Spendlove," Kate corrected him.

  "Whatever. He can go to hell, along with both of you, whatever his name is!"

  "You need your wits about you, Marshal," J.D. said. "Trying to hang this mess on us, you're missing out."

  "When I need your advice, I'll ask for it."

  "And now's as good a time as any."

  "Think you're smart, eh? Sittin' with a scribble on a piece of cardboard in your pocket, from your stagecoach man. I told you once before, he carries no weight here. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a pair of trouble-makin' guns for hire, no better than assassins."

  "That would be your first mistake," Kate said.

  "Enough! I want you out of town tonight, as soon as you can pack your things and hit the road."

  "We're paid up at the Seagull's Rest tonight," J.D. advised him.

  Allred reached into a trouser pocket, took a silver dollar out, and tossed it into J.D.'s lap. "Not any more. You just checked out."

  "You can't just throw us out of town," Kate said.

  "Don't like it, you can always write your congressman," Allred replied. "Oh, wait. He ain't from Utah. Better luck next time."

  J.D. and Kate exchanged a glance. He shrugged and said, "We'll need our weapons back, Marshal."

  "Your tickets to the gallows," Allred mused, lifting the twin Colts from his desktop. "Which belongs to who?"

  J.D. relieved the lawman of one pistol, while Kate took the other.

  "Wish that I could be around to see you pay the tab," said Allred. "That would make me feel a damn sight better."

  "You could always hold your breath till then," Kate said, sliding her Colt into its holster.

  "And I bet that mouth'll be what kills you. Love to see that. Yes, indeed. Enjoy your night, now. Should be nice and clear for ridin'."

  Once they were outside, Kate told J.D., "He had me going for a second, there, talking about the paper in your pocket."

  "Cardboard," he amended. "Allred didn't like Koch's greeting card."

  "At least he didn't search us."

  "Good luck to him, trying that with you."

  "It might've ended badly," Kate agreed. "What time is it?"

  "Time to be following a dead man's map," said J.D.

  "Great minds think alike," she told him, as they started for the Seagull's Rest, to pack up for the road.

  * * *

  A long mile north of town, J.D. remarked, "I won't miss Provo."

  "Nope. The only halfway friendly face I saw was What's-his-name. The editor."

  "Manwaring," J.D. said. "And all he wanted was a story."

  "True enough," Kate granted. "But at least he didn't look at us like we were dirt."

  "They're hidebound church folk, most of them. Don't let it eat at you."

  "I don't. It galls me, though. That smug superiority."

  "Imagine how it feels to them."

  "How's that?" she asked.

  "Living all bottled up that way," J.D. went on. "Knowing how much you're missing out in life, gambling on payday when you die, having to focus all your energy on getting to the finish line without setting a foot wrong, anywhere along the way. I wonder that they aren't all ulcerous."

  "You always make me feel better."

  "I'm glad to hear it. Now, about tonight..."

  "I
only see two ways for it to go," Kate said. "Either somebody's waiting for our dead guy, or they're not."

  "That's logical."

  "But nobody's expecting us."

  "So, we ride in—"

  "Sneak in."

  "—and give them a surprise."

  "Exactly."

  "But we don't know how many there'll be, if any."

  "No."

  "Okay. Just checking."

  They rode on a while in silence, then he said, "They may still have the Gatling gun."

  "And that gives us an edge," Kate answered, "if we play it smart."

  "I'm listening."

  "Whoever they're expecting, they'll be looking south toward Provo, right?"

  "Makes sense."

  "So, when we're close enough to spot the place, whatever it turns out to be, we work our way around and come in from a new direction, where they're not expecting it."

  "Great minds," J.D. said, echoing his wife's remark from earlier.

  "Really? You're claiming my idea, now?"

  "Babe..."

  "Too late." And then, "How many do you figure we'll be up against?"

  "Well, there were two men in the wagon, plus a driver, when they tried to kill us in the restaurant. Assuming Mr. Map was one of those, that still leaves—"

  "Two," Kate said. "I worked that out. And I don't think the brains behind this thing was riding with them. Three, at least, and to be safe, I think we need to double, maybe triple that."

  J.D. replied, "We've faced worse odds, before."

  "I know, but I've been thinking. Is it worth the risk for old church papers, or whatever Norval Jolley's documents turn out to be?"

  "We've got a payday riding on the line," J.D. reminded her.

  "I'm not forgetting that."

  "We've come this far, and killed two men."

  "One sort of killed himself," Kate said.

  "Same difference. I hate to go through all of that, and then not see it through."

  "I know. That's bothering me, too."

  J.D. reined in his brindle gelding. "Stop a minute, hon," he said.

  Kate sat beside him on her palomino mare. "Don't mind me, J.D. I'm just being silly."

  "No. If you've gone off this job, then I respect that. We can wire Koch from the next town. Tell him to forget it. Since he hasn't paid us anything, he can't complain. I'd rather not go back to Provo, though."

  Kate thought about it, staring off across the moonlit desert flats, then shook her head. "Nope. Like you said, we've come this far. I want to see the end of it."

  "You're sure?"

  "Damn right."

  "We keep on with your plan, then."

  "Our plan.

  "Right. Okay." After another quarter mile, he said, "I calculate we're halfway there."

  "No hurry," Kate replied. "Longer they wait, the more it wears them down."

  "Or sets them shooting anything that moves."

  "That's fine, as long as they're not shooting us. It tells us where they are and helps us count heads."

  "You'd have made a decent field commander in the war," J.D. remarked.

  "I was too young, like you," she said. "Besides, the army likely would've made me cut my pigtails."

  "No appreciation of the finer things."

  The miles slipped by, no way of counting them precisely, but their horses' gait allowed for an approximation. Right around the eight-mile mark, J.D. said, "We should see whatever's out here in another twenty, thirty minutes."

  "Hoping that they don't see us."

  "We've got an edge. Moon's to the west, and not behind us, plus we have cloud cover moving in."

  "I hope it's not a cave, or something else we'd ride right past."

  "They would've put that on the map," he said. "I hope."

  "Some kind of house, then. Maybe they'll have lanterns burning."

  "That would be a help."

  And so they did. Kate saw them first, nearly a mile off, and they rode a little closer, making sure. It seemed to be a clapped-out farm, the smallish house set near a barn that looked dilapidated in the moonlight. J.D. saw no trace of cultivated land, nor livestock roaming free. Two of the house's windows showed pale light.

  "Honey, we're home," he said.

  "Somebody's waiting up, looks like."

  "So, east or west?"

  "West," Kate decided. "Opposite the moon."

  Chapter 13

  "He shouldn't be this late," said Carlan Naegle.

  "No," Abriel Hamblin granted. "I believe it's safe to say that something's gone amiss."

  "You say that like it's nothing. But if someone took McCarthy, they'll be comin' for us, next."

  "You worry too much, Brother Carlan."

  "Some might say you don't worry enough."

  "McCarthy wouldn't finger us."

  "That ain't what worries me," Naegle replied, then raised a finger to his lips, as if to block the words. Too late.

  Hamblin turned toward his nervous fellow Danite. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Brother?"

  "Well..."

  "Spit it out, now."

  "I was thinking he'd have trouble findin' us, after he took care of the snoops, you know?"

  Hamblin pinned Naegle with a glare. "What did you do?"

  "I mighta showed him where to come."

  "'Mighta'?"

  "I did show him. That is to say, I sketched a map for him."

  "A map. What did it say?"

  "I don't recall, exactly," Naegle said. "'Ten miles northwest', something like that, and then the drawing. Wasn't much."

  "But anyone with eyes could follow it."

  "Well, yeah, I guess."

  "And they could be outside, surrounding us, right now."

  "I doubt—"

  "Spare me your theorizing. Go outside. Warn Brothers Zerin and Jacari of the danger that you've placed us in, then start patrolling the perimeter."

  "For how long, Brother?"

  "Until I can stand to see your face again."

  When he was gone, Brother Moroni said, "That one's not smart enough to pour piss from a boot, with the instructions printed on the sole."

  "He means well, I suppose," said Hamblin. "But he does possess a certain genius for confusing things."

  "How did he ever make the outfit?"

  "Someone on the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles owed his father something, from the old days. I forget the details. His appointment was considered strictly ceremonial, a title without duties. Then...this business came along, and we were called out of retirement, so to speak."

  "They needed us again."

  "We're all that's left of the original Danites," said Hamblin. "Once, an army true and strong."

  "Plus one idjit," said Finlinson, and turned back to his window on the night.

  * * *

  J.D. and Kate approached the farmstead slowly, cautiously. The moon, in front of them, cast their long shadows out behind, no warning for their enemies. The property was silent until someone came out through the front door of the farmhouse, spilling lamplight in the yard, and started jogging toward the barn. They watched him go and disappear inside the larger structure. In the house, a man-shaped shadow crossed one of the lighted windows.

  "Changing shifts?" Kate suggested.

  "Can't tell. Maybe passing a message. Whatever, we know there's three of them, at least."

  "Could be more in the barn."

  "That's a fact. But we work with what we have."

  "Close enough?"

  "It suits me."

  They dismounted and tethered their mounts to low-hanging mesquite branches, each tying slipknots the horses could beat with a tug if they got tired of waiting or strangers approached them. Drawing their Winchesters from saddle scabbards, both also removed spare boxes of .44-40 cartridges from their saddlebags, stuffing them into convenient pockets.

  "You ready?" asked J.D.

  "I'm good," Kate replied.

  "I knew that, going in."


  She flashed him a smile by moonlight, then stepped up to kiss him. It took a bit longer than planned, but she broke the clench after a minute or so stepped back. "Let's get to it," she said.

  "Ladies, first."

  "Such a gentleman."

  Walking the last fifty yards, they were wary of lookouts and rattlers, but met neither one. Halfway to the farmstead, they saw the first man they had spotted emerge from he barn and move off to their left.

  "Taking care of some business?" asked Kate.

  "There's a privy."

  "Oh, right. On patrol, then."

  "Don't want him surprising us, do we?"

  "Not even," she said, as they both veered off-course.

  * * *

  "Can you believe that coot?" Jacari Snow asked, with a tired shake of his head. "Drawin' a map, of all things."

  "Brother Carlan never had much in the way of brains," Zerin Cole agreed. "It's just God's mercy he's survived this long."

  "Mercy for him, not us. Somebody ought to bed him down."

  "That ain't our call."

  "But if he brings a posse down on top of us," Snow offered, "I'm just sayin', accidents can happen."

  "Leave me out of it."

  Snow sipped his coffee, rationed out to help them stay awake. "You're right. Don't mind me. I'm just breakin' wind."

  "Thought I smelled something," Cole replied, fanning the air in front of him.

  They sat on bales of hay, beside the Conestoga wagon with the Gatling gun inside it, the tarpaulin down and lying folded on another stack of bales nearby. The hay was moldy and it smelled of rodents, but it still beat sitting on the barn's dirt floor.

  "Who do you reckon's comin'?" Snow asked.

  "Maybe no one. If they do come, I'd lay even money on the Gentiles or the law."

  "I can't see Marshal Allred messin' with us here, outside his jurisdiction."

  "There's the county sheriff," Cole suggested.

  "That old fogey? He's nothin' but...whatchacallit, from the front end of a sailing ship?"

  "A figurehead?"

  "That's it. He only does what members of the county council tell him to, and Brother Abriel has got an in there, I believe."

  "We should be fine, then," Cole replied.